


The Northwest Tower

by Ellex



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Exploring Atlantis, Gen, Horror, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 08:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17639228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellex/pseuds/Ellex
Summary: "It was a whim that brought him to the tower."One of the towers of the abandoned city of Atlantis hides something terrifyingly and utterly alien.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Livejournal in 2005.

He looked out at this tower often, set out on one of the arms of the city. It was distant from the center, unlike the other towers that were clustered together. He'd found Atlantis oddly asymmetrical, inexplicable in its arrangement of rooms and corridors, towers and piers. It was unlike the majority of Ancient architecture, not conforming to the geometric style seen in most of their structures, despite the decorative windows that spread their orderly patterns across the floors in sunlit arrays.

It was a whim that brought him here, seeking the entrance to the lonely tower. He felt the need to get away from the others, crowded as they were into one small section of the vast city. Sometimes it was comforting to know that everyone was clustered together. Other times – like this one – he began to feel claustrophobic, hemmed in, and the emptiness around him beckoned with silent, dim hallways where no feet had walked for centuries.

There was no transporter at the base of the tower, no furniture or signs to indicate its use. Only a set of steps twisting up, on and on, against the inner wall. There was no handrail, no windows to look out on the rest of the city. He almost turned back, daunte by the prospect of those endless steps. But the challenge, the lure of the unknown, drew him to take the first step...and once he'd started, how could he stop? Up and up and up...around and around, hugging the wall after the first few turns as the floor dropped away below him. He counted the steps in his mind, the first few unconsciously, then out loud, his voice whispering and lost inside the huge empty space. The farther he went, the less he wanted to continue, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop. This, he thought dimly, must be what it was like to be obsessive/compulsive: to want to stop, to need to stop, to understand how foolish and unnecessary it was to continue...and to be completely unable to stop.

The numbers he chanted under his breath got bigger and bigger, harder to keep track of. His thighs were burning, his knees aching with every step, and still he couldn't stop.

He had to keep his eyes on the steps under his feet so he wouldn't see the yawning chasm beyond the steps, so it was a complete surprise when suddenly it ended at a total of 1,847 steps. He lifted his eyes to find himself at the edge of a small, bare platform at the very top of the tower, a small window directly in front of him. The ceiling was only a few feet overhead.

He approached the window almost reluctantly, unwilling to face such a prosaic reward for his efforts. Why would the Ancients build this lofty spire, with no transporter to whisk you to the top, only to crown it with this empty, pointless little landing and window? Expecting to see the city from high above, he was startled by the landscape that filled the vista beyond the window: A broad, flat field lay just a few feet below the window. A few stunted, twisted trees shivered as if a strong wind blew against them, but the dark, thick grass didn't move at all. The sky was filled with a swirling riot of low red and beige clouds that moved sluggishly in odd masses, unlike clouds at all. A few hundred yards away, what appeared to be a split-rail fence meandered across the field.

He stood there, mesmerized by the truly alien landscape, unable to form any coherent thoughts. Then one of the trees turned, twisted, bent its writhing branches like no tree ever could, and moved toward the window. As it neared, he had the growing conviction that it was alive – that it could see him, that it was sentient and knew perfectly well what he was and what he was doing there. It was precisely the kind of alien he'd expected to find, coming to a different galaxy. It was what he'd wanted to find, what he'd been disappointed _not_ to find. And it was the most awful thing he'd ever seen in his life.

He stumbled away from the window, unwilling to turn away, seeing the thing that wasn't a tree get nearer and nearer. He had to turn sideways to start down the steps, to keep the window in view. He didn't look away until he'd gone far enough around the turn to lose sight of the window, and even then he turned back, looked up, frequently, counting the steps again automatically. He didn't start to relax until he'd reached five hundred steps.

It wasn't until he'd counted nine hundred more that he really began to feel safe again. He leaned carefully out to see the bottom of the tower, but it was still shrouded in shadows.

When he'd counted three hundred more steps, he looked again.

Still only darkness.

Even if he'd miscounted, he should be able to see the bottom.

Another hundred steps. Surely he hadn't lost count that badly.

Down another two hundred steps, and he still couldn't see anything but darkness. He looked up, but the top of the tower was lost to sight as well.

He put a shaking hand on the wall, took several deep breaths, and pushed the panic out of his mind, deliberately not thinking about anything but the number of steps. After a moment, he continued walking down. Two thousand and one hundred steps. Two thousand and two hundred steps. Two thousand and three hundred steps. Two thousand and four hundred steps.

Twenty-five hundred steps...


	2. Compulsion

The search for Anders Hessling was well into its seventh hour, and John Sheppard had been, by turns, worried, irritated, scared, furious and resigned, and was now just plain tired. No one knew why the xenobiologist had wandered off on his own or where he had gone, only that he had to be somewhere in the city. A colleague had remembered Hessling's interest in the structure unofficially dubbed "The Northwest Tower", so Sheppard and his team – McKay, Ford, and Teyla – were headed for the isolated structure. It was the last place they planned to look before going off-duty and handing over the search to another team.  
  
"McKay, has anyone actually _been_ to this tower?" Sheppard asked. He was reasonably certain the answer was no. At this point, he was just making conversation to fend off the uneasy feeling that had lingered all day.  
  
"Not that I know of. We're trying to explore Atlantis in an organized fashion, Major. I realize the concept is as foreign to you as that of a hairbrush, but I assure you it will make things easier in the long run."  
  
The words had the familiar ring of standard McKay snark, but the tone of his voice lacked the sharpness John expected to hear. He turned to look at Rodney in surprise, and saw the same expression of distracted apprehension he knew his own face bore.  
  
But they'd already lost too many of the science contingent, and Sheppard knew it weighed as heavily on McKay as it did on himself, so he wasn't too surprised that Rodney was a little off-color now that another scientist was missing.  
  
Ford and Teyla, on the other hand, seemed their usual selves, if tired from the long, fruitless search. They had spent most of the day discussing various aspects of Earth and Athosian cultures with little input from Sheppard or McKay.  
  
It didn't take long to get to the base of the tower. The closer they came, the more animated – or rather, irritated – McKay became, frowning at the life-signs detector.  
  
"What is it?" Ford asked, peering over Rodney's shoulder.  
  
"It's not working correctly. See, those blips are us – but over here I keep seeing life-signs fading in and out."  
  
"Where is that?" Sheppard was instantly alert.  
  
"It should be the base of the Northwest Tower."  


 

* * *

 

He knew something was wrong the moment he opened the door. It was, oddly, *not* an automatic sliding door like every other one in Atlantis. A large bar swung across the door frame to keep it closed and locked, and Sheppard didn't miss the fact that the hinges were on the outside of the door. The bar itself was furred with dust – also unlike anything else in the city. The door was unlocked, the bar lifted out of the way, the dust obviously recently disturbed. When Sheppard touched it a spark of static electricity leapt to his skin, stinging and burning momentarily.  
  
Nodding to Ford and Teyla to have their weapons ready, he carefully pulled the surprisingly heavy door open and peered inside.  
  
The octagonal room was dimly lit, but completely empty save for the staircase that spiraled up the windowless tower. The stairs hugged the wall, leaving the center of the structure open, and there was no banister or railing to keep an unwary climber from tumbling off the stairs. Something else about the staircase bothered Sheppard, but it took a moment to figure it out: the stairs started on the left-hand side of the door and wound in a clockwise direction. Almost every staircase he could remember in Atlantis ran counterclockwise.  
  
Sheppard stepped into the room and was immediately drawn to the steps. A nagging little voice in the back of his mind whispered _don't_ , and he heard it echoed behind him in a groan that sounded like McKay. He wanted to look back and see what was wrong with the astrophysicist, but the compulsion to move forward was stronger. The world behind him and all the warrior instincts that should have been screaming warnings at him faded into a haze that left him feeling a dream-like detachment, all conscious thought filled with the awareness of the inviting stairs in front of him. He raised his foot, placed it on the first step and looked up...and up and up and up, vision focusing and narrowing, shadows swiftly creeping in at the edges until his sight was reduced to a tiny point high above him where some... _thing_...stared down at him. Then there was nothing but the shadows moving closer until he thought he could reach out and touch them. And then there was nothing at all.  
  


* * *

  
  
A stinging pain on his cheek pulled him abruptly out of a vertiginous darkness into spinning light that made his eyes water. He couldn't keep them open in the face of the blinding whiteness, and he flung up a hand to shield them.  
  
"John? John, for god's sake...I want out of here, okay? I can't take much more of this..." The voice was familiar but it sounded oddly rough and desperate. He'd heard voices changed like that before, from throats damaged by screaming.  
  
"Doctor McKay, please, you need to rest –" the smooth, low female voice was abruptly cut off by a gasp that he thought had come from his own mouth as his legs twitched with a renewed desire to climb those endless stairs. Without making a conscious decision he rolled over onto his stomach, rose stiffly to his feet, and staggered toward the stairs. He had almost gained the first step when a sound caught his attention.  
  
High-pitched and eerie, the keening filled the tower and drew echoes from the nearly sound-deadened walls. He wanted to turn and see what was making all the noise in this silent place, but the compulsion gripped him with renewed strength, almost drowning out his hearing, pulling him forward, urging him up. But at the same time the voice behind him turned into shrieks of unbearable fear and pain. He knew the voice that was making those awful, inhuman sounds, knew that no human throat could sustain them for long before giving out, and that the mind would probably give out before the throat did.  
  
With a wrench that left him feeling like he'd torn something loose inside himself, he turned away from the steps. What he saw made him almost wish he hadn't turned.  
  
McKay lay on the floor, writhing and convulsing and screaming, the thin-lipped mouth a huge red hole in his face. Ford and Teyla struggled to hold him down, but the thrashing was so violent that their efforts were barely effective.  
  
Sheppard forced himself move back down the steps, even though every muscle, every nerve in his body, even his own thoughts, were urging him back to the stairs. He dimly noticed that he'd gone farther than he'd realized, counting eleven steps back down to the floor. Rodney's screams abruptly cut off and he lay gasping and trembling in Teyla's arms.  
  
Ford jumped to his feet and reached for Sheppard, then hesitated.  
  
"Sir? We can't get the door open. It closed by itself. I think you need the gene to open it."  
  
He could see the whites of the Lieutenant's eyes and the quiver in his voice told John that the young man was terrified and barely holding himself together. He looked beseechingly at Sheppard, silently begging his CO to save them.  
  
The several steps to the door were the hardest John had ever taken in his life, each one a struggle against the compulsion that wanted to turn him back to the steps, but he focused on the harsh gasps coming from Rodney. Halfway there he paused, nearly giving in to the pull that felt like hundreds of fish hooks embedded in his skin, tugging him back, but a single sob from McKay gave him the resolve to push forward.  
  
When he touched the door he heard a clunk from the other side. It swung out reluctantly, and he tumbled through the doorway with a falling sensation like gravity had just shifted. Moments later Ford and Teyla were dragging Rodney after him, and he grabbed the door to shut it. For just a moment, he thought he saw something rushing down the staircase, and he shoved the door closed and swung the bar down across it, backing away swiftly.  
  
Several minutes passed before he could tear his gaze from the door, and when he did he found his team staring at him with eyes like frightened children.  
  
"Let's get out of here," he told them hoarsely. McKay was the first one to push himself unsteadily to his feet, using the wall as a prop. He accepted Teyla's steadying hand under his elbow when she smoothly moved beside him, but refused to meet Sheppard's questioning gaze.  
  
"He was in a lot of pain, sir," Ford told him quietly. "Every time you moved up the steps, the doc was in agony."  
  
"I don't remember," Sheppard said softly. "What the hell happened in there?" They followed Teyla and McKay back towards the populated area of the city.  
  
"He said something was calling you...a voice that wasn't a voice. He said it hurt to listen to it, but I didn't hear any voices in there, sir. When you started climbing the steps, I called you but you didn't answer, and McKay was screaming his head off...so I grabbed you and pulled you back down the steps, and you fell...and the doc was okay again. Then you got up and headed back up the stairs...jeez, sir, I've never heard anyone scream like that. It was horrible, and then he started thrashing around." Ford shook his head. "I think maybe it was something to do with the ATA gene, since Teyla and I weren't affected. And the doc's gene is artificial."  
  
"A big assumption there, Lieutenant, but sound deductive reasoning nevertheless. There's hope for you yet." McKay's painfully hoarse voice floated back to them. "Now come keep Teyla company and let the parents talk for a bit." He leaned wearily against the wall and waited for them to catch up.  
  
"You okay, Doc?" Ford asked dubiously.  
  
"No, I'm not okay. I don't think any of us are particularly okay. But we'll worry about that later, alright, Lieutenant? It can wait until we reach the relative comforts of the infirmary and Carson's needle-happy nurses."  
  
The young man nodded and moved ahead. Sheppard just stood there, waiting, while McKay looked everywhere but at him.  
  
"I won't ask you what you thought you were doing. It was clear enough that you weren't in control of yourself. I just want to know what you saw before you shut the door." McKay's tone was flat and painful. "And don't try to deny it. I saw your face when you turned around."  
  
"I don't know, Rodney. I just caught a glimpse of something...but it was big. Very big and very fast."  
  
"I suggest you tell Elizabeth that the tower is damaged. Mark it off-limits to everyone. Tell her we found Hessling's body there, but the structure was too unstable to retrieve it."  
  
"How do you know Hessling was there, Rodney? I didn't see anything that might indicate that he went up the steps."  
  
McKay was silent for a long moment before managing one last sentence before his abused vocal cords gave out altogether.  
  
"I recognized his voice, John."


	3. Hostility

The disappearance of Anders Hessling had made a long day even longer, and Elizabeth was at the point where she didn't much care what condition the man was found in, as long as he was found. She was disturbed by the way the scientist had just wandered off alone without telling anyone where he was going. Too much of Atlantis remained unexplored, and the incident with the nanovirus had proven how dangerous the city could be to them.  
  
Sheppard's team, on a tip from one of Hessling's colleagues based on a half-remembered conversation, had gone to check the lofty Northwest Tower. There had been plenty of speculation about the tallest spire in the city: the purpose of its great height, almost half-again as high as any of the other towers; its odd location out on one of the city's starfish arms when the other tall structures were clustered at the center; the lack of windows anywhere on its dizzying length. But while McKay could, and often did, eagerly bypass protocols and procedures in pursuit of knowledge and technology, he remained steadfast in his insistence that exploring the city be done an organized fashion.  
  
Movement caught Elizabeth's eye, and she looked up to see Sheppard's team heading toward her office. They'd found something, that was clear from the vociferous discussion in which Sheppard and McKay were engaged. It couldn't be anything good, because the missing scientist was not with them and they hadn't contacted her on the radio. Ford and Teyla looked shaken and worried, and Sheppard seemed almost manic. Rodney looked furious and distinctly ill. His face was gray, his eyes were red-rimmed as if he'd been crying, and he moved like every muscle in his body ached.  
  
Elizabeth had seen John and Rodney argue before, but there seemed to be an edge to this that hadn't been there previously. They stopped on the balcony outside her office, Rodney leaning heavily against the railing and not meeting Sheppard's eyes. The major grew more agitated, head thrust forward aggressively, moving into Rodney's personal space.  
  
As she left her office, she head Sheppard insist, "We have to go back, McKay. We can't just leave him there...or leave the tower unexplored."  
  
"You're a fool, Sheppard," McKay rasped painfully, his voice gravelly and hoarse. "Tell Elizabeth whatever you want. But if you go back there, none of the scientists are going with you. And I'll make sure Carson examines you _very_ closely when you come back." He shoved the major out of the way and stalked off, throwing back over his shoulder, " _If_ you come back."  
  
Elizabeth didn't miss the glance that passed between Ford and Teyla, or that Teyla followed McKay out of the Control Room.  
  
"Major?" she ventured hesitantly. Slowly, his fists uncurled and the uncharacteristic sneer left his face.  
  
"I need – I need to put together another team to go back to the tower." His tone was oddly uncertain.  
  
"You found Hessling?"  
  
"I don't – I'm not sure. It was – strange."  
  
"Rodney seemed to think it's a bad idea."  
  
The hostile look returned. "He's just scared because –" John broke off abruptly. "We have to go back there," he insisted doggedly.  
  
Elizabeth had learned years ago to listen to her intuition, and right now it was telling her that something was very wrong. Sheppard and McKay were both behaving strangely. She knew that Teyla and Ford must also aware of it, since the Athosian leader had gone after Rodney and Ford was casting anxious glances at his CO.  
  
"It's been a long day, John. Get some rest and we'll see about organizing a return trip in the morning," she said carefully.  
  
"We should go now –" John started, fidgeting with his P-90. Ford stepped up and lifted it unnoticed out of his hands.  
  
"In the morning, sir. It can wait," the young main said gently, leading the distracted soldier away - not in the same direction that Teyla and McKay had taken. Behind the major's back, Ford turned his head to stare at her and mouth 'Talk to McKay!'  
  
That, more than anything else she'd witnessed, really worried her. If Ford was referring her to Rodney rather than his own CO, whatever had happened in the Northwest Tower must have been very strange indeed.  
  
She headed for the door McKay and Teyla had exited, and almost tripped over Rodney. He sat on the floor, head in his hands, while Teyla knelt beside him with a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I have called for Doctor Beckett to send help," the young woman informed her quietly.  
  
"I think my blood sugar bottomed out," Rodney ground out without lifting his head. "I jus' need a minute –"  
  
"You need to go to the infirmary," Teyla told him firmly. "We still do not know what happened to you in the tower."  
  
"Doesn't matter. We need to –" he broke off to cough painfully, and gave up trying to speak. An eloquent glance at Teyla prompted her to speak for him.  
  
"I do not understand what happened, only that Major Sheppard seemed to be drawn to climb the steps to the top of the tower, and every time he did so, Doctor McKay was overcome with great pain. He said he could hear a voice calling the Major, and it was the voice which was hurting him, but Lieutenant Ford and I could hear nothing. I do not believe Major Sheppard heard the voice either – or does not remember hearing it."  
  
"And Doctor Hessling?"  
  
"The door showed signs of a recent disturbance," Teyla admitted, "but I saw nothing else to indicate that Doctor Hessling had been there."  
  
"The voice I heard," Rodney croaked, "sounded like Hessling. Sounded like – but wasn't."  
  
"It sounded like Hessling, but it wasn't him?" Elizabeth clarified. "How could you tell?"  
  
The look he gave her combined irritation, impatience, and an undercurrent of fear he couldn't quite hide. "Sheppard –" he rasped, closing his eyes and massaging his temples.  
  
Teyla spoke for him again. "We believe you should not allow Major Sheppard to return to the Northwest Tower. He seemed fine when we left, but he has grown increasingly hostile and insistent upon going back."  
  
Elizabeth met the Athosian's earnest gaze and nodded. "I'll order John to report to Carson. Perhaps something will show up on a medical exam. I'll stall him, for now, on the subject of a return trip."  
  
A nurse from the infirmary arrived with a wheelchair at that moment. Rodney looked at the chair with pointed disgust but sat in it without vocal complaint and allowed himself to be wheeled away.  
  
Elizabeth turned to Teyla. "Would you come back to my office and tell me everything that happened today? In detail."  
  
Teyla nodded graciously.  
  


* * *

  
  
Rodney lounged comfortably in the wheelchair, downing his second glass of sweetened juice and feeling markedly better when Sheppard stalked into the infirmary, his face twisted with fury.  
  
"You spoke to Elizabeth, you bastard. What the hell did you say? How did you convince her not to let me go back to the tower?"  
  
Beckett stopped in the doorway of his office and stared as the soldier sneered at the scientist.  
  
"If you're scared, McKay, you can hide out here in the infirmary and whine about your so-called hypoglycemia. Leave the work to the _real_ men. Or maybe there's something you're trying to hide."  
  
Rodney glanced up, but swiftly averted his gaze from John's face. He stood and asked quietly, "Why are you so eager to go back there, Major?"  
  
This seemed to further enrage Sheppard. "What are you hiding, McKay? What did you do to Hessling?"  
  
"Do to –" McKay was surprised enough to look directly at Sheppard, and Carson saw him flinch slightly, as if something he saw frightened or disgusted him. But apart from the ugly expression of anger and suspicion, John's face seemed perfectly normal to Carson. "I didn't do anything to Hessling. What are you talking about?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about. You got rid of him, didn't you? You lured him out to the tower to get him out of your way. Did he figure out your big secret? He found out you're just making it up as you go along, aren't you? You don't care how many people get hurt, as long as the great Rodney McKay gets all the glory."  
  
Rodney was speechless, mouth hanging open and blue eyes wide. Carson himself was similarly struck, too shocked to make a move to defend his friend from this completely unexpected and unjustified attack.  
  
"You've been deliberately sabotaging us this whole time. In fact, I bet you even pulled the trigger on Brendan Gall. Couldn't stand the competition, huh?"  
  
The color drained from Rodney's face, and he turned blindly away from John, who grabbed him roughly by the arm.  
  
"Don't you turn your back on me, McKay!" he shouted, throwing a wild, uncontrolled punch that caught the scientist on the mouth and sent him sprawling over the wheelchair, the forgotten glass in his hand clattering to the floor and spilling juice all over.  
  
"You can't stop me from going back there," John hissed at him before turning away.  
  
He was halfway to the door when Rodney extricated himself from the wheelchair and hit him with a clumsy but effective flying tackle. McKay's heavier frame was enough to pin Sheppard momentarily, long enough for Rodney to gasp, "Carson!"  
  
The doctor finally shook off his astonishment and fumbled for a syringe and an appropriate sedative. Rodney managed to grasp one of John's arms and twist it behind him, a knee in the middle of Sheppard's back keeping him down while the soldier ground out a variety of vicious epithets. Beckett slid the needle home and added his own weight to the struggling man until the cursing slowed, then faded, then stopped altogether.  
  
They cautiously moved back, then let out identical sighs of relief when Sheppard didn't move.  
  
"Help me get him on a bed and then I'll take a look at your mouth," Carson said.  
  
"My mouth?" Rodney asked breathlessly, touching his lips with shaking fingers. They came away with blood from the split lip. "I didn't even feel that. Ow," he continued, "okay, now I feel it. Thanks for the help, Carson, though you left it a little late. And I didn't exactly hear you piping up to defend me, either."  
  
"Sorry. It was just so..."  
  
"Unexpected? Out of character? Insane? Yes, I noticed that." He grunted with the effort of lifting Sheppard up onto the bed.  
  
"Elizabeth already informed me that she wants a full workup on Major Sheppard – and on you, too, Rodney. No arguments," Carson forestalled his indignation. "She had Teyla tell me all about your episode in the tower, and after your little hypoglycemic reaction, there's no way you'll get out of it."  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look, why don't you examine Sheppard first, while he's out for the count? I need to talk to Elizabeth, tell her about Sheppard and make sure she understands that the best thing to do about the Northwest Tower is to weld the damn door shut. I'll come right back so you can perfect your torture techniques under the guise of practicing medicine."  
  
It didn't take Elizabeth long to gather Sergeant Bates, Teyla, and Ford in the conference room, along with Rodney, to discuss the possibility of sending a team in HAZMAT suits to investigate the tower – a scheme with which Rodney vehemently disapproved – or simply weld the door shut, as Rodney first suggested, then demanded.  
  
The meeting was interrupted when Beckett radioed to inform them that Sheppard was missing from the infirmary.  
  
"He just walked out when I wasn't looking. He should have been unconscious for hours yet," the doctor sounded bewildered.  
  
"Do you know how long he's been gone?" Elizabeth asked.  
  
"Forty-five minutes at most. I was running his blood work. I've checked his quarters, he's not there."  
  
"No," Rodney stood, his face gone white, eyes focused inward. His lips stretched back from his teeth in a mirthless grin. "He's at the tower, of course," he said softly. "He's opened the door."  



	4. Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected and inexplicable POV shift. It just didn't work any other way.

I was insane.  
  
That was the only explanation I could come up with for the course of action I was engaged in.  
  
I would have thought, considering my massive intellect, that I could have come up with at least _one_ other explanation. But no, apparently I had finally gone off the deep end. Round the twist, up the wall, sent to Bedlam, stark staring nuts, looney tunes. Psycho. Bonkers. Mad.  
  
Mad was a good word: it fit most of the swirl of emotions I was experiencing, both the hot, seething fury and the freezing panic-surge of fear.  
  
At least the focus of my feelings was clear: Major John Sheppard. My colleague, my team-mate, the man who had saved my precious ass more times than I cared to count. My against-the-odds, who'd-have-thought, nothing-in-common best friend. The man who had, earlier that very day, split my lip, cursed me, and accused me of cold-blooded murder.  
  
And now I was going after him into a place that actually scared me even more than the Wraith. The last time I'd been to the Northwest Tower, I had ended up writhing on the floor in excruciating pain, the strange voice in my mind sending a terrible agony trickling along my nerves. I'd spent nearly seven hours searching for that idiot Hessling, who'd just wandered off on his own (although I now suspected that he had been _lured_ there) even before the assault I'd experienced in the tower. Add to that a hypoglycemic episode; being punched in the mouth by a delusional Sheppard; having to wrestle the major to the floor to keep him from going to the tower; and to top it all off, the sudden, horrible _awareness_ that the door of that appalling tower had been opened – by Sheppard, who should have been safe in the infirmary, under sedation and possibly restraints.  
  
The bottom line was that I didn't think I could take much more. The anger and fear driving me were fading as the initial burst of adrenaline wore off. Insanity would have been an easy way out. If I was insane, then I didn't need explanations for behaviors I would normally condemn as idiotic and foolish. I didn't have to think about what I was doing, or where I was going, or what I'd find when I got there. If I thought about it, I'd be paralyzed with fear. So I wouldn't think about the fact that my little rescue mission was unauthorized, or that I was heading into certain, if undefined, danger. I wouldn't think about why I was doing this. Sheppard would have done it for me, and not just because it was his job. That was a good enough reason. That and my amateur self-diagnosis of lunacy.  
  
I hefted the cold weight of the P-90 in my arms.Thanks to Sheppard's patient training, I felt pretty confident in my ability to use the powerful weapon. I felt a good deal less confident in its effectiveness against the thing in the tower, whatever it was. All I really knew was that something had spoken to me – spoken _inside my mind_ \-- with Hessling's voice. Something that was definitely _not_ Anders Hessling.  
  
As I approached the entrance of the Northwest Tower, I began to feel a pull towards the wide-open door. Centered in the pit of my stomach, almost like the subtle but inescapable pull of gravity, but also in my mind, I now knew what Sheppard must have felt. I suspected Hessling had felt the same thing.  
  
I flipped the safety off on the P-90 and peered cautiously around the doorway. The base of the tower was empty, just like the first time I'd been there. I entered and looked up, but saw nothing apart from the stairs winding endlessly up into darkness. The pull was strong now, tugging me towards the steps, and I knew – I _knew_ , without doubt, without proof – that Sheppard had been here before me.  
  
I had to take a deep breath before I could give in to the compulsion to climb. I've always been a contrary person, almost instinctively saying 'no' when everyone around me said 'yes'; never able to just go with the flow, to obey without question, follow the crowd. It went against my very nature to climb those steps, entirely apart from the fear that still sat on my chest like a super-dense neutron star.  
  
It seemed like one moment I had put my foot on the first step, and the next I was several circuits up with no recollection of anything in between. I staggered, barely managing to catch my balance and avoid falling down the stairs. I ended up leaning against the wall and gasping for breath, heart hammering against my ribs. Something _wanted_ me up those stairs, was blithely bypassing my brain and moving my body without me. If it wasn't for the almost irresistible compulsion to climb, I think I would have turned around right then and there.  
  
Am I a coward? Maybe.  
  
Was I scared almost past reasoning? Definitely.  
  
The point is moot. I did feel the compulsion, and I went on.  
  
The strange loss of time and space continued, speeding me up the steps with remarkable efficiency. I would climb a few steps, there would be a moment of disorientation, and I'd be several flights up from where I'd been. The farther I got from the base of the tower, the harder it became to tell what progress I'd made; and after a while the floor was lost from sight, shrouded in the dimness that pervaded the place. I had the impression that the space was filled with a thin, electrically charged smoke that made the shadows flicker and twist like live things and the hair on my arms bristle with static – or with fear.  
  
Even with the aid of whatever was making me zip quickly and almost effortlessly up the steps, my legs began to burn with fatigue. When I finally stumbled into the platform at the top of the tower, I nearly sank to my knees, the muscles twitching with overexertion. Only the sight in front of me kept me on my feet: the large window at the far end of the platform, directly opposite the top of the staircase. A baleful light shone weakly through the window, pale red and sickly and doing little to actually illuminate the interior of the tower or the twilight landscape on the other side. I found myself staggering towards that strange vista, my legs feeling like they belonged to someone else.  
  
The view through that window could only be described as "hellish". Dark, thick-bladed grass waved gently of its own accord, more like some strange sea anemone than grass. It filled the field, up to and past the incongruously prosaic split-rail fence. On both side of the fence were trees that looked like they'd been turned upside down so that the naked, spreading roots were uppermost. The source of the reddish light was a low sky full of thickly roiling tan clouds...or possibly the sky was tan and the clouds were red. It didn't really look like clouds or sky, so it was anybody's guess.  
  
What nearly made my heart stop in my chest – if it wasn't the exertion of climbing those stairs – was the sight of Sheppard walking across the field, and heading straight for one of those trees.  
  
I didn't like the trees at all. Trees didn't sway smoothly like that, weirdly echoing the movement of the anemone-grass. Trees didn't shuffle slowly towards people.  
  
And that realization had me clambering through the window and sprinting after Sheppard, all the while cursing at myself and him. The thick grass felt disgustingly fleshy underfoot, but I resolutely ignored that and the smell in the air: an odd mixture of fresh rain, the sharp ammonia scent of cat urine, the flat dirty smell of car exhaust, and something vaguely musky that reminded me of the taste of venison.  
  
The grass was hard to run through. The knee-high blades – tendrils – whatever, grew in clumps, slapping heavily against my legs. The heavy air burned in my lungs and left a chemical taste in my mouth like over-chlorinated water.  
  
Even if I'd had the breath to call Sheppard, I wouldn't have. Apart from a low rumbling thunder in the in the distance, the landscape was utterly silent. The only sounds were my own short-winded puffing and the heavy swish of the grass as I practically waded through it, and even that seemed like too much noise.  
  
It seemed to take forever to catch up with Sheppard, even though he was walking slowly. He looked like he was out for a lazy Sunday afternoon stroll in the park. I put my hand on his shoulder and spun him around.  
  
His face was slack, blank-eyed, mouth hanging open. I saw, even stronger than before, that change in his face that had made it difficult to look at him since that first trip to the tower, the echo of something monstrous and inhuman underneath his skin.  
  
Then he blinked, and whatever tiny measure of intelligence he had seemed to creep slowly back into his brain.  
  
"Rodney?"  
  
"Oh, thank god," I babbled in relief, "you're okay, I thought I'd lost you. I was afraid your mind was gone and we'd be feeding you strained peas and changing your diapers –"  
  
His face twisted like it had in the infirmary and he lunged at me with a snarl. I landed on my back in the long grass, Sheppard on top of me with his hands around my throat and the P-90 trapped awkwardly and painfully between us. If my finger had been on the trigger, we could both have kissed our asses goodbye right then and there. As it was, the sensation of that strong grip crushing my windpipe was almost paralyzing. My mind went blank, barely registering the discomfort of the butt of the P-90 in my stomach. What was happening was simply incomprehensible. John Sheppard couldn't possibly be trying to kill me, it was impossible and therefore not true. Not happening.  
  
My body, for once, was smarter than my brain, and lack of oxygen made it struggle. The muzzle of the P-90 caught him in a sensitive place and his eyes bulged, then he released my neck and rolled off me with a gasp. I took everything I had to sit up and point the weapon at him. I couldn't stop coughing, and for a few minutes I concentrated on getting my breath back and my heart rate back to normal, but I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. I was here to save Sheppard's sorry, stupid, homicidal ass, but not at the expense of my own life. If I had to I'd do my best to wound him, rather than kill him, but self-sacrifice wouldn't help either of us.  
  
Or at least, that's what I thought.  
  
John lay on his side in the thick grass that was visibly leaning towards him, caressing his body with those awful black tendrils. Actually, on closer inspection, they weren't quite black, but a very dark blue, dull and unreflective. In fact, everything in this lush but desolate landscape seemed to absorb the ambient light, so that my gaze just kind of slid off them, unable to properly focus. I briefly wondered if it was a property of the light emanating from the oddly colored clouds or the objects themselves. I'd probably never know, since the last thing I wanted to do was come back here to investigate – or take anything back with me.  
  
Sheppard slowly uncurled and sat up, removing his hands from where he'd been clutching himself. His eyes were empty and dull again, and his gaze passed right over me as if I didn't even exist. He stood up without any sign of pain and walked towards the closest tree – which was, in turn, moving slowly towards us.  
  
Cursing silently, I hauled myself to my feet and went after him again. I reached him just as the tree did, grabbed his arm at the same time as the tree reached out with a branch or root, disturbingly both gnarled and vaguely serpentine in its movements, and wrapped it around his other arm.  
  
The tree, utterly alien and unlike anything I had ever conceived, or _could_ ever conceive, thrust itself into my mind and intertwined with my thoughts, filament-thin wires of burning cold that froze time for me. Suspended between heartbeats, between seconds, between thoughts, I found myself invaded and stripped bare while something huge and strange and _ot_ _her_ peered at me, something so very different from any concept of life or sentience as I knew it that the very act of its observation changed me.  
  
And then the moment was over, and I let go of John's arm and staggered. Somehow I managed to stay on my feet as my heart skipped and stuttered before settling down into a steady, if slightly too fast, rhythm.  
  
"Rodney?"  
  
The voice was slightly muffled by the ringing in my ears from the echo of the tree's presence in my mind. At first I thought the tree had spoken, because the tree was the only thing I knew. There was no room for anything else, not my memories, my identity, my thoughts – only the tree, its vast presence crushing everything else.  
  
"Rodney, where are we? How did I get here?"  
  
The familiar voice, along with the familiar, puzzled face that suddenly filled my vision, brought me back from the edge of the abyss I'd been sliding inexorably into. In that one brief fraction of a second as I came back to myself, I felt the lingering presence of the thing that was in no possible way at all like a tree, and I understood. I comprehended what I had lost and what I had been given, and the awful, almost Faustian bargain I had been offered.  
  
And I had the choice, in the moment, to reject it. I could leave untouched, if not entirely unchanged...without John. Or I could accept it and take John, whole and himself, home...to Atlantis. Because this place I had come to was not on Atlantis, not on this planet, not even in the Pegasus Galaxy...possibly not in my own universe.  
  
I accepted.  
  
John put his hand on my arm, and I flinched. I couldn't help myself, and it wasn't because he'd hit me or tried to strangle me. It was because, after the tree, it was _his_ touch that was strange and alien. I was distantly surprised to find myself on my feet since I felt like I had been smashed and broken and crushed into the ground. I took a breath, finding the chemical tang in the air normal and even pleasant, my eyes adjusted to the reddish light which now seemed oddly reflected on John's skin.  
  
"Let's get out of here," I said, my own voice unfamiliar and too loud in my ears even though I knew I'd spoken so softly that he had to strain to hear me.  
  
I turned, and was unsurprised to see a hole in the air, an image of the platform at the top of the tower. It hung there, unsupported and unmoving, a rent in this reality that led back to our own. I was almost reluctant to go back, now that I was possessed of an unconscious, instinctive understanding of this place. I knew that the grass was not grass, but the extended sense organs of a living creature that lay far below the surface. The fence was a type of parasite that spread, vine-like, for miles in its gently meandering line, following the landscape. The low, swirling clouds of almost tomato-red mixed with tan or beige were alive too, gaseous creatures that lived and died and reproduced entirely in the air. And I knew we were lucky that they completely obscured the sky.  
  
I didn't have to look behind me to know that John was following me. I was _aware_ of him now, of his presence. I would always know when he was near. It was part of the change the tree had made to me, whether intentional or accidental. I felt him following me through the window as we climbed through what I knew to be a natural dimensional portal, probably the discovery that had led the Ancients to devise the Stargates in the first place. After a while, he stopped asking questions and we descended the steps in silence. We met an armed party at the bottom, but when I told them we had to leave the tower immediately, they obeyed without question. I caught the look in Carson's eye that told me he felt the draw of the steps, even as diminished as it now was. Elizabeth took my calm to mean that there was no longer any danger, and I didn't disabuse her of the notion, although I wasn't calm. I was as far from calm as I could possibly get. I just didn't have the capacity for panic or fear at the moment. It was a done deal and I was resigned to it, even if I didn't yet know the extent of the consequences.  
  
I was the last person to exit, and I closed the door of the tower behind me and lowered to bar across it. Bates crowded in beside me and I suppressed a shudder. It would take a while to get used to my own reality, my own species, again. The light was harsh, the sounds too sharp in my ears. I would recall that other place with a kind of affection now, as something familiar and forever out of reach, like a childhood home or a long-dead but fondly recalled relative.  
  
Bates tried the bar, found it immovable.  
  
"It's locked," I told him. "No one can open it. We won't have to worry about it."  
  
When we returned to the inhabited section of the city, I had to sit through a debriefing during which I lied unrepentantly. I caught John's widening eyes and he clamped his mouth shut over an objection to my version of events and agreed mildly with everything I said, claiming that the last thing he remembered was starting up the steps on that first visit to the Northwest Tower, then waking to find himself struggling with me on the empty platform at the top of the steps. We didn't mention the window at all, and I didn't tell them what I alone knew of Hessling's fate. The rising bruises around my neck gave neat testimony to my greatly abridged version of events.  
  
John and I were examined by Carson, pronounced 'fine but exhausted', and were prescribed several days rest. I received a half-hearted reprimand from Elizabeth for going after John on my own, then I was free to head for the solitude and sanctuary of my quarters, where I sat on the bed and was finally able to let my mind go blank.  
  
Some time later, a knock on my door heralded John Sheppard's presence. I'd felt him coming down the hall, so I'd had time to shed my jacket and turn on my laptop so he wouldn't know I'd been just sitting there for the last two hours.  
  
He seemed hesitant, skirting the question he really wanted to ask, but finally blurted out, "Rodney – what happened?"  
  
I shook my head, and to my great relief he took that to mean that I didn't know, rather than that I didn't want to explain it.  
  
His next question was harder to avoid.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
God, what a question! Was I okay? The answer was a resounding 'no'. I didn't think I would ever be 'okay' again. Something had been taken from me, a kind of innocence in my concept of myself, the universe, and my place in it. Something else had been put in its place: not just the knowledge I now had of that other world, which I understood to be an unimportant side effect of my brief moment of communication with the tree-being, but the seed of that creature's awareness that bled inextricably into my own senses. I might put it behind me, might spend minutes, hours, days not thinking about it. Perhaps, eventually, I could even forget, to an extent. But for the rest of my life, that seed would be watching, listening, tasting, smelling, feeling... _knowing_ everything I knew and remembering, until its release at my death. Then it would return to its parent with all the accumulated experiences and knowledge of Rodney McKay.  
  
Something of all this must have shown on my face, because John frowned and repeated, "Are you okay?" He put his hand on mine and squeezed gently.  
  
"I will be," I told him, and it was enough of the truth for both of us to accept.


End file.
